


On the Hudson

by Tangerine



Category: X-Factor (Comics), X-Men (Comicverse)
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-24
Updated: 2018-12-24
Packaged: 2019-09-17 20:12:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16981041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tangerine/pseuds/Tangerine
Summary: During the calm before the storm, the original five X-Men celebrate the return of Jean Grey and the newly formed X-Factor.





	On the Hudson

**Author's Note:**

  * For [snowshus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/snowshus/gifts).



> Set during X-Factor (1985) #1.

Warren hung the phone up, placing the takeout menu back in the drawer he'd found it in. It was ancient – stained with grease, one corner ripped clean off – and he'd crossed his fingers when he'd dialed the number, hoping it was still in business. When a cheerful voice answered at the other end, he'd laughed. 

From across the kitchen, Jean smiled at him. She may have lost her telepathy, but Warren had no doubt that she knew exactly why he grinned all the way through his order. She always saw right through him.

It'd been a little over two weeks since Reed Richards had called to tell him they'd found Jean at the bottom of the Hudson, alive. He could still hardly believe it. It was like a dream, the best one he'd ever had. Jeannie, back where she belonged, with them. They'd been a little lost without her, he thought. 

"Forty-minutes," he told her. "If the others don't make it back in time, bully for them." 

"They'll make it," she replied, tilting her head, red hair sweeping over her shoulder. "They always do." 

Warren grinned at her. "It's so good to have you back, Jeannie."

"I'm so happy to be back," she assured him, and he grinned again, helpless and happy beyond belief.

He offered his arm, and she took it. They walked out into the makeshift meeting room, which Hank and Bobby had put together by gathering whatever they could find in the mostly empty building. He had a bunch of new furniture on order, placed shortly after he and Jean had started scheming about the future. 

They needed one more piece in place before he'd really let himself believe this was actually happening.

He had his brand-spanking-new waterfront property fully paid for, his dummy corporation set up by his lawyers, and enough space to house every mutant he personally knew a dozen times over. But right now, it was just a building, mostly empty, with a mishmash of chairs shoved into a random room. 

_Come on, Scotty_ , he thought, _don't fail me now_. 

Hank had found a stack of newspapers in one of the rooms, and Jean was looking through them now, catching up on the years she had missed. He kicked his heels up on the table, tilting the chair back, arms behind his head. This complex had cost him an obscene amount of money, but it was worth it. 

Not just for the view, but for the promise of what they could do, together. 

He daydreamed for a while before the buzz of the intercom jolted him out of his fog. 

He pressed his finger to the phone. "Hello?"

"Let us in, Flyboy. Hank forgot his key, and he insisted on walking back here. It's _raining_."

"A little rain never harmed anyone, Bobby," Hank protested. "It's a fine night for a stroll."

"You already smell like a wet dog."

"Eau de McCoy, my frosty friend. Eau de McCoy."

Jean snorted inelegantly from across the room, still flipping through a year old issue of the New York Times, and Warren laughed. "Hold your horses, Drake. I'll be there in a jiffy. Try not to melt till then."

"Funny," Bobby said. 

Leaving Jean alone, Warren flew out the door and into the hall. He swooped down into the main entrance. The nice thing about having almost no furniture was how much room he had for flying. He unlocked the door, stepping back as Bobby pushed inside, Hank close on his heels, Scott at the rear.

It wasn't unlike some of their old Danger Room formations. 

"I'm starving," Bobby announced, dropping his soggy red coat on the floor. 

"I ordered Chinese," Warren said, glaring at him until Bobby picked it up. With a long sigh – during which Warren contemplated grabbing him in a headlock and grinding his knuckles into his scalp – Bobby grabbed his coat and Hank's and hung them both up in a closet normally meant for clients.

Bobby gave him a look. "You're paying?"

"Don't I always, you cheapskate?" 

"He has a point there, Drake," Hank replied. Bobby made an indignant noise, which had Hank cackling as he jumped away. They chased each other to the second level and down the hall, disappearing from sight. Warren smiled faintly then turned his attention to Scott, who looked like he hadn't slept in weeks.

"I have a shaving kit and some clean clothes up in my room. Looks like you need a little TLC, Scott."

"Warren," Scott started then stopped, voice rough and cracked. 

"Not tonight, Scott. Okay? Tonight, we eat Chinese takeout and reminisce about when we were teenagers and just be glad that Jeannie's back in our lives. Take a shower, shave, and put on some clothes that don't smell like the Fuzzball and Frosty dragged you out of the gutter. It can wait."

Scott exhaled sharply, and Warren knew how bad he was hurting by how easily he followed Warren's commands. They were both used to the other way around – Warren flapping around, Scott yelling instructions at him while also bossing around Hank, Bobby and sometimes, if needed, Jean. Those two had always been mostly on the same page, and Warren had long ago stopped expecting anything else. 

They were in uncharted territory now, but at least they were together. He just had to keep telling himself that. 

Scott disappeared upstairs, and Warren hung around in the lobby until the food showed up. 

By the time he returned to the meeting room, Hank and Bobby had managed to find plates, utensils, a collection of coffee mugs missing their handles and, surprisingly, a dusty bottle of wine, still corked. Scott stood quietly by the window, staring outside, hair damp and curling slightly, expression severe. 

"It might be alcohol, or it might be vinegar. We won't know until we test it for ourselves."

"Have I ever told you that you're my favourite, Hank?" Bobby asked, planting a wet kiss on his cheek. 

"Frequently," Hank assured him. 

Warren dumped the bags of food down on the table, grinning at Jean when she stepped up to help unpack. He'd ordered way too much – Jean had warned him, as always, and he'd ignored her good advice, as always – but he just hoped it would buy them a few hours of peace, laughter and full bellies. 

Like the good old days, when they were kids and dreamt of saving mutant-kind, one person at a time.

"Scotty, I know how much you love egg-rolls, so I got you six."

"Gee, thanks, Warren," Scott said dryly, and Warren grinned at him. "No chicken wings?"

"Funny," Warren replied, tossing Scott his box of egg-rolls, which he caught. "As in _not at all_." 

"Oh, I've missed you guys," Jean said, looping one arm around Warren's waist and sliding the other around Scott, pulling him closer to the table. Warren looked at him over Jean's head, but Scott kept his cool, exhaling slightly. "I mean, I don't remember much, but it feels like I've been gone forever."

"You didn't miss much," Bobby assured her, plopping a chicken ball into his mouth and chewing thoughtfully. He offered one to Hank, who promptly opened his mouth, accepting the offering. "We were total disasters without you. But we have the band back together again! We're like the Beatles!"

"Nobody tell him," Hank said with a grin. 

Bobby shook his head. "Oh, you know what I mean. We're best as a team. We're _amazing_ as a team."

"Sometimes, I wonder," Scott said, but it was clear he meant it as a joke. They shared a good laugh. 

Piling their plates high with food, they gathered at the other end of the table, five mismatched chairs pushed together. Hank opened the wine, smelling it, then offeried it to Warren for a secondary sniff test. It wasn't something any Worthington worth his salt would be caught dead buying, but it would work. 

As Scott poured the wine into the broken mugs, Jean clapped her hands together. "So... get me caught up. Why is Magneto in charge of the school? Why are Warren and Candy not married yet? Has the plot moved at all on General Hospital? Warren, feel free to answer those last two," she added with a laugh. 

"Oh, those ones are easy. I'm an idiot, and no, of course not."

Over dinner, sometimes with their mouths full, they told Jean all the gossip they'd heard. Scott held back, and if Jean noticed, she didn't say anything. There would time enough later for everything to be sorted out. Time later for tears and yelling and years of pent-up emotion spilling out like it was fresh. 

Tomorrow, they'd try to save the world again. Tonight, they talked and laughed and loved each other.


End file.
